


Three Wishes, One Choice

by SilverRaven33



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Denial of Feelings, Destiel - Freeform, Devoted Castiel (Supernatural), Drinking to Cope, First Kiss, Guardian Angel Castiel (Supernatural), Lovesick Dean Winchester, M/M, Pining, Worried Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-14
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23102656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRaven33/pseuds/SilverRaven33
Summary: Dean won't let himself admit what he wants, even to himself; typical Dean. But his heart wishes for it all the same, and Sam wishes there was something he could do for his brother. A certain angel in a trench coat just might be the answer, but he's not supposed to be down here anymore.So much beautiful angst.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 68





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Again, no spoilers, please. Watching Supernatural for the first time and I'm up to Season 7. This hunter and this angel might be the death of me lol.

The flimsy motel table shook as the duffel bag was tossed onto it, the legs threatening to give way. The bag’s owner grunted as he began digging through his meager luggage, searching for his favorite sleep shirt. Mumbling obscenities under his breath, shirt and relatively clean boxer shorts in hand, he turned and walked almost directly into his brother. Another grunt sounded as he sidestepped him and headed towards the bathroom.

“Could you stop being a little bitch for five minutes?” Sam shot after him, the slamming bathroom door the only response. 

“I never thought I’d say this, but you really need to get laid,” Sam called out as Dean started up the shower and rolled his eyes. Well, his little brother wasn’t wrong, he had to concede, stepping into the entirely too hot spray. But that wasn’t why he was absolutely miserable lately.

Getting laid he could accomplish; he never had a problem finding a willing participant in the local middle class bar, generally a couple streets over from the seedy motels he and Sam would camp out in for a night or two. If you went to the establishments too close to where they usually took a room you were liable to end up leaving with something you didn’t want. Dean may have been a dog, but he had standards. 

So why had it been almost six months since he’d taken a beautiful woman to bed and distracted himself with soft skin and breathy moans? It would be pleasant, surely, an illusion he could lose himself in that he was normal, that he wasn’t a cursed hunter, that he didn’t want things no man should want. 

Dean turned the temperature of the water down a bit after he washed his short hair. No sense in reminding himself too much of Hell. As he scrubbed up, he idly thought of jacking off, but he knew it wouldn’t help. He wasn’t even horny. Which made the “get laid and ignore the real problem” idea rather difficult. For almost the first time in Dean’s life since he was sixteen, he didn’t really want sex. 

He wrung out the wash rag and threw it past the shower curtain, not caring where it landed. He knew what was wrong, why he’d been in a foul mood for the last few months, and he wasn’t about to tell Sam. It had taken him long enough to figure it out himself, and he still wished it wasn’t the case. Dean wished a lot of things. 

He dried off hurriedly and pulled his clothes on, then returned to the common area and made a beeline for the bed his brother hadn’t claimed. Without a glance at Sam, Dean flopped onto the bed and slid under the covers, ready to shut out the world. 

“Dude, don’t you want to go get dinner?” Sam asked with a touch of bewilderment in his voice. They hadn’t eaten for five hundred miles, after all.

“No,” came out from under the generic hotel blanket and sheets, muffled but decisive. 

“Okay,” Sam said and gave a half shrug, then moved towards the exit door. “I’ll bring you some pie,” he told his brother, his tone clearly hopeful that the mention of one of his favorite foods might rouse some response out of Dean. Nothing. The door shut with a click behind him as Sam left. With the hotel room quiet, and who knew how many miles under his belt, Dean felt the exhaustion calling to him. He let himself drift away, the blessed black hole of sleep one of his only true comforts anymore. But even his subconscious was haunted by a dusty trench coat and blue eyes. 

For all the dreams he simultaneously welcomed and dreaded, Dean finally got some solid sleep, waking up after nine hours feeling more refreshed than he had in awhile. He opened his eyes to the morning sun peering into the crack between the flimsy hotel curtains, confused for a moment. He never slept that long, but he supposed he’d needed it. His stomach was grumbling already, and he remembered he hadn’t eaten the night before. His gaze landed on a Styrofoam container on his bedside table and he reached for it before bothering to shove the covers off his body. He had to smile a bit. Apple pie. His favorite kind even. Sam really was a good little brother. 

Dean sat up so he could inhale the pastry, noting the pleasant lack of grogginess he usually experienced upon waking. He didn’t even know if he’d need coffee this morning. No, he thought after a moment, coffee was still happening. 

At the diner around the corner, Dean ordered a large breakfast, even for him; pancakes, an omelet, and sides of bacon and sausage, with home fries to boot. Good sleep, good food, mostly sunny skies, he had to admit this day was not starting out bad. 

“So I researched the history of the church last night,” Sam said across the Formica table. And a partner that was happy to do all the book work on a case, Dean added to the list. Really, things could be worse. He took a deep gulp of cheap coffee, all ears to Sam’s results.

“And it’s pretty dark,” the younger man continued. “Seems there was a tradition in the mid nineteenth century to bury the priests in the actual basement of the building. I haven’t been able to figure out why.” Sam shook his head. “And there have been news reports lately of the bodies being exhumed.”

“By who?” Dean wanted to know. Sam’s eyebrows rose as he shook his head slightly again.

“Local police don’t know yet.”

“Of course they don’t.” Another last swallow of coffee. “Gives new meaning to being sworn to your faith, huh?” Dean rose from his chair. “Let’s go see this damned holy basement.”

Several hours, some probably haunted dirt on their best FBI suits, and a severe case of the heebie-jeebies later, the hunters regrouped at the local park. 

“The way they were buried in a circle?” Sam was saying, “There had to be a reason. Like, like they were protecting something.” The hole dug in the center of said circle gave little doubt as to where the something in question had originally been, but where it was now, or what it might be, was anyone’s guess. 

“If we can figure out who’s been sneaking in to steal priestly bones, maybe that’ll give us a lead. Think it’s the same person that took the real prize?” Dean asked, watching a trail of ants surround a dropped cheese curl on the ground in front of the bench the guys were resting on. 

“I don’t know,” Sam replied. “This church is the oldest one in the tri-state area. Who knows what was buried in ground that hallowed. Might be important.” Dean sensed where his brother was going with this. 

“Could be an artifact,” Sam finished, his tone serious.

“They were all rounded up,” Dean said shortly. 

“How do we know that for sure?” Sam argued, or maybe Dean just wanted to believe he was arguing. Annoyance prickled at the back of his neck. “Some might be in pieces that are still down here. Remember the staff of Moses?” 

“It’s probably not what it is,” Dean dismissed the idea. “Could have been someone’s cat for all we know.” Sam was giving him that smug look of disbelief that Dean hated. 

“We could try calling Cas,” Sam said lightly. “If there’s even a chance this is about an artifact, he’d want to know.” Dean’s brow furrowed at the name, but then he consciously smoothed it. 

“I’m sure he’s busy,” Dean countered. “We can handle this on our own.” He fixed his gaze on a tree in the distance to avoid looking at his brother. Sam sighed thoughtfully.

“I hope he’s okay,” Sam said, causing a twinge in Dean’s gut that the older man barely let himself register. “It’s been a long time since we’ve seen him. Like, what, months now?” There was true compassion in his voice, and irrationally Dean felt his anger flare up.

“Maybe he got sick of us only calling when we need something. He’s got a whole friggin’ life of his own, you know,” Dean snapped, harsher than he strictly meant to, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam flinch. 

But it was true; the two of them had done nothing but take, take, take from the angel, and Castiel had done nothing but give. This was a harsh truth Dean had come face to face with in the most buried recesses of his mind and during all the nights he wasn’t able to sleep. It made sense that eventually Cas would get sick of their shit, especially since he had a war he was fighting in Heaven. This reason was far preferable to the idea that some lasting harm had befallen him. Dean rolled that thought up in a tiny little ball and shoved it as deep down as he could. Cas not being okay was not an option. 

“It still might be worth trying,” Sam, stubborn as ever, persisted. “He might answer you.” There was just enough emphasis on that last word to cause a shadow to fall over Dean’s mood again. He scowled and this time his expression stayed that way.

“Let’s wait for dark and go back to the church,” was his only reply, his voice gruff. “Maybe we can stake it out and catch someone in the act.” Dean could feel Sam’s eyes on him, and that overly concerned furrow in his brow that his little brother wore so well. He had the urge to wipe it off his face with a fist, so he still didn’t look at him. 

“Are you that worried that Cas wouldn’t answer?” Sam asked, too perceptive for his own good. Dean had had enough. He stood up from the bench, no longer able to be distracted by ants or trees.

“Sam just drop it,” he quietly roared, and began stalking his way back to the Impala. Sam had the sense to give him a few moments alone before he followed him. Neither hunter was aware of the dark haired figure leaning against a fence post several yards from the car, plenty of his own concern swirling in his blue eyes.

Dean drove back to the hotel wordlessly, working on one of the things that he did best: refusing to feel. Castiel was fine, he told himself, the angel had just finally had the sense to abandon them. That’s why he had started ignoring their calls five months and two and a half weeks ago now. Not that Dean had been counting. 

He’d mocked him the last time he’d seen him. The loop of calling him a petulant child and the crestfallen look on Cas’s face played over and over in Dean’s mind. The guy was a goddamn warrior angel, where did Dean get off treating him like that, he internally yelled at himself for the umpteenth time. He ignored Sam’s glances when they got to the hotel and he cracked the whiskey bottle open at barely three in the afternoon. Anything to chase the ache away. 

It was stupid. It was ridiculous and hopeless and stupid. To have grown an attachment to a celestial being that had taken a shine to them for awhile and now had better things to do. Dean could justify the deep gratefulness he’d cultivated over Cas pulling him out of Hell, and he could even rationalize thinking of him as a friend. Cas had been around a lot over the past couple of years, after all, and had done incredible things to help them out. But Dean could not accept missing him. He had no right. The cheap liquor burning Dean’s throat chastised his heart for being so foolish. 

“So what else do we know about this church?” he asked Sam, forcing his mind back to the case. “If it’s that old, maybe there’s a local historian that can help us.” 

  
  


It wasn’t a heavenly artifact, neither was it a cat. Castiel had ensured that he sent specialists out as soon as he was able, and they’d found the remaining pieces of Balthazar’s loot. The Winchesters took two more days to narrow down that the missing item was indeed an old relic, but only a local one, the skull of the first priest of the church. It took them another day to find it and burn it so that it could stop rising and making the town’s impressionable occult enthusiasts summon the other priests from their resting ground. 

Humans worked so slowly at the best of times compared to angels. Castiel wished he could help the boys, but he only let himself interfere enough to weaken the lock on the door so that Sam could get to the skull with the lighter quickly, before the spirit could end Dean's life. He knew even that was too much anymore, but he could not bring himself to abandon them. They were his friends after all, and he’d been doing this too long to just stop caring. Besides, Dean never slept well unless Cas made sure of it. 

  
  


Sam swirled the last sip of his beer around the bottom of the bottle before tossing it back and standing up. He threw a few bills on the bar. This just wasn’t the same without Dean there to drink with. Not that he exactly wanted to encourage his brother to imbibe more alcohol but a couple of beers and some flirting with the bartender like the old days would have been welcome compared to the empty whiskey bottles Dean left a trail of in each town now. 

As he used the restroom and then stepped out into the late night spring air, Sam wished there was something more he could do for Dean. Trying to stay out of his way when he got angry and morose or bringing him pie just didn’t seem like it was enough. Maybe there was nothing anybody could do. With everything the Winchesters had been through, the scars might be too much to heal. Sam knew this. But maybe there was still something somebody could do.

He eased the Impala into a secluded parking lot and pulled her into a spot away from any lights. The mere fact that Dean had let him take the car when he knew Sam was going to be drinking was a sign that he was in a bad place. Maybe not the worst he’d ever been, but Sam had to at least say he tried. He closed the Impala’s door and went to lean against the trunk.

“Castiel!” he called in a sturdy voice. “I don’t know where you are, or even if you’re alive. I hope you’re alive. I hope you’re okay.” Sam felt like he was talking to himself like he usually did when he tried calling Cas, but this was his last hope. He looked up into the night sky and his eyes scanned the stars. He remembered when he was a kid and he thought those were Heaven’s peep holes so the angels could watch over the Earth. Oh to have that innocence back. 

“We’re...doing all right down here, if you still care. Nothing too crazy has happened lately, sorta back to business as usual.” He paused. He had no inkling whatsoever that their old friend did care. He continued anyway. 

“But, Cas, it’s Dean. He’s...in rough shape. I mean, it’s Dean, so he’s never been Mister Well Adjusted,” he tried to be lighthearted as he spoke to essentially no one. “But he’s just been different lately. I don’t know what to do for him anymore, and I don’t think it’s going to get better this time.” Sam spoke his darkest fear to the night, then gathered his thoughts again. 

“Cas, I know you guys had kind of a bond of some sort, and, I get it if that’s not there anymore.” He closed his eyes for this last part of his prayer. “But if any of it still is, Cas, please, maybe there’s something you can do.” 

Sam gripped the edge of the car’s trunk tightly in his fingers, opening his eyes. He peered out into the blackness of the night and waited one beat, two beats. Ten beats. No flutter of wings, no sudden appearance of an old friend in a trench coat. Sam let out one long, slow exhale and straightened his lanky form. He’d tried. He got back in the Impala and headed towards the hotel, where he knew Dean would be sitting in stony silence, unreachable. 


	2. Chapter 2

Freedom and choice is both a blessing and a curse, it could be said. It all depends on who’s doing the saying. Here’s another adage: Be careful what you wish for. But sometimes you just can’t be careful any longer. 

  
  


Dean couldn’t get to the door fast enough, he had to get out of this house. Bobby’s was the closest thing the boys had to a home but right now it felt stifling. When they were on the road and it was just Sam’s obsessive worry over him, he could cope with that. However, when Bobby gave him that look, and Dean knew their surrogate father was hurting over him too - that he couldn’t take. When was he going to implode? He was sure it was a matter of time. 

Ignoring the hollered questions of where he was going, he turned the doorknob, about to step out into the early dusk and take a walk in Bobby’s junk car lot, just to get away for a little bit. Instead, suddenly, he found himself in a ramshackle log cabin, seemingly alone, the daylight coming in through the dirty window suggesting it was earlier here than it was where he’d been zapped from. 

Senses immediately on alert, Dean grabbed for the pistol in his back waistband, then felt that it wasn’t there. Shit. He spun around, trying to get his bearings and discern what the threat might be. He froze at the still figure he found standing behind him. 

“Cas.” 

The name was torn from his throat as his eyes widened. The angel was so solid, and real, and  _ there _ , that the dam Dean had built inside himself threatened to burst in an instant. 

“Dean.” The steady voice was the same, the chiseled face the same, the damn trench coat the same, the eyes...Dean couldn’t handle that quite yet. 

“Almost six months, man,” Dean ground out. “Where the hell you been?” And he gritted his teeth, hating that he couldn’t keep the tears from springing to his eyes or the lump out of his voice. It was just so damn good to see him, and not in a dream. 

“I’ve been busy,” Cas said evenly. Dean nodded slowly, getting somewhat of a hold on his surprise and emotions. 

“Right,” he said. “The war. Is it...over?” He was able to flit his gaze over Castiel’s face, noticing with a pang that the angel looked more tired than he used to. Dean wanted to reach out and… But that was ridiculous. 

“It’s been done for awhile,” Cas told him. He seemed still distant, somehow, Dean realized. Not that he’d ever been exactly warm and fuzzy, but one would think after not seeing a friend for so long, he’d be a bit less stiff. Whatever, Dean thought, at least he was alive and okay. He’d settle for that. 

“And you won, I take it?”

“Armageddon was not unleashed again, correct?” 

Dean acknowledged this with a tilt of the head, opening and then closing his mouth. There were too many words that wanted to tumble out and he didn’t know where to start, or if he should at all. 

“There were...many losses,” Cas continued, and Dean intimately knew that look of sorrow that haunted his friend’s face as he spoke. “But we’ve been able to build a new structure among the ranks that promises peace.” There was something about the dry way he said this last that suggested he was less than enthusiastic about the end result.

“New structure?” Dean questioned. Castiel released a soft sigh, seeming to relax a tiny bit.

“We have a council now,” he stated. “Since most everyone has been able to agree that God is not returning.”

“Well, that’s good, though, right?” Dean replied. “A democracy instead of a dictatorship.” 

“Yes,” was the blank response as Cas glanced away. Dean studied his face like he had a thousand times before, like he’d sorely missed being able to do. And he knew the angel was not telling him everything yet. 

“But…?” Dean urged. Cas’s eyes were staying glued to the floor, expression a controlled mask, and Dean had the thought to shake him. 

“Cas?” Dean asked, tensing with worry. The angel raised his head, and his eyes were the deepest blue Dean had ever seen. The hunter looked away quickly, still not ready to drown. Was anybody ever ready for such a thing, though? 

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Cas’s voice was rough. “I’m not supposed to see you. At all.” Dean’s heart fell through the old floorboards at this. Despite his best efforts to keep his emotions in check, he was losing the battle. 

“Says who?” he nearly growled.

“The council.” Calm again, resigned. 

“That’s why you haven’t been around?” Dean growled. “Cause of some stupid council?” 

“Dean, that group of angels is maintaining peace on Earth,” Cas remonstrated. “You may not agree with all they decree, but please do not call them stupid.” Dean, unable to contain his nervous energy any longer, began to pace the small cabin.

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“It’s okay,” Cas, who hadn’t moved, replied in a softer tone. 

“I just…” Miss you, Dean wanted to say but bit the words back.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he finished instead. “But it hasn’t been the same without you.” Curse it all, he was turning into a damn sap. 

“I’ve been here,” Castiel said quietly, as if he was confessing. Dean stopped in his tracks and turned his body so that he could face the angel. 

“Here? As in…” and Dean glanced around the cabin. 

“No,” with just the ghost of a small smile that tugged on Dean’s heart quite against his will. “I’ve been with you, watching over you.” Did that mean…?

“Since when?” Dean asked, his brow creasing. He felt Cas’s eyes on him, openly studying him, and while with anybody else that felt like an invasion, it was different with Cas. 

“Since forever,” the angel said gently. “At least, your version of it. It’s time I told you the truth, Dean.” There was silence for the space of three heartbeats between them, Dean too curious at what this meant to form a question. 

“I’m your guardian angel.” Three more heartbeats worth of silence while Castiel stared at Dean carefully, and Dean stared back, waiting for his voice to come back to him.

“You’re serious?” came out first, and Cas gave a slow nod. “That’s a thing?” Dean asked next. “I mean, you did pull me from Hell.” 

“Far before that,” Cas stated. “Since before you were born, Dean.” The hunter squinted at this, his brain having a hard time keeping up. 

“You’ve been watching over me since I was a fetus?” He couldn’t decide if this was comforting, or an intolerable level of weird. But it was Cas, and somehow that fact alone calmed Dean. Across the cabin floor, the angel’s face was softer than Dean had ever seen it.

“A month before you were born,” Castiel started, “Your mother stood at your crib that your father had just built, and she said that angels were watching over you. Since you were so important and were meant to become Michael’s vessel, I was sent for the task. It normally would not have been among my duties.” Dean took this information in slowly. This meant that Cas had watched him grow up, been a snotty rug rat, and a horny teenager, and... 

Wait. Task? Duties? Dean swallowed, a twisting in his gut.

“So...that’s why you...I’m just a responsibility to you?” He could feel the walls beginning to slam down inside him again even as he spoke. He knew he’d been beyond stupid to think... 

Castiel suddenly took a few steps closer to him, till the tips of his once shiny loafers were toe to toe with Dean’s scuffed boots. His steel blue eyes locked with Dean’s hazel ones, and Dean was glad he hadn’t been planning on moving any time soon. Cas wasn’t intentionally controlling him with that stare, it was just the effect that the angel’s full attention focused on him could do; he was at Cas’s mercy, as always. 

“Dean I fell from heaven for you. That’s not responsibility. That’s insanity.” His voice grew a touch softer with his next words but his stare stayed just as intense. “A guardian angel is supposed to assist where needed, help guide you and provide what they can from a safe distance. I’ve gone quite a bit further than that. Most say too far.” 

“Most? Like, the council?” Dean questioned.

“They know...how devoted I am to you.” These words spoken so bluntly, in Cas’s no nonsense way, robbed the strength from Dean’s knees but he had to remind himself it was different from a human definition of devotion. Or was it? 

“I allowed our relationship to become personal. I’ve broken a lot of rules even since I’ve been back. And I’ve been told to stay away from you.” At this, Cas took a physical step backwards, as if for emphasis. Dean, not thinking about it, took a step forward, closing the space again. 

“But you’re here,” Dean said, maybe a little too desperately. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it if Cas left again, and come to find out, he’d never been fully gone. 

“And I could get cast out again for this,” the angel said. But he wasn’t stepping back, or merely disappearing, and his eyes hadn’t left the human’s. Dean had to admit, there was a selfish part of him, deep inside, that wished Cas would get thrown out again, and he could be around like he used to be. But he couldn’t ask the angel to pay that price for him. It was one thing when it had been wholly his decision and Dean hadn’t even known until later. 

“Then,” and he had to force the words out through gritted teeth, “I guess. You should go.” And Dean finally tore his eyes away from Castiel’s deep pools of blue. But he was still drowning and his heart was shattering into a million pieces. He always wanted what he couldn’t have, it was his curse. 

Dean lowered his head, dropping his gaze to the dirty floorboards again. He couldn’t bring himself to watch Castiel, his Cas, disappear for the last time. He waited for the flutter of wings that meant the angel would be gone while his eyes filled and his vision blurred. It was just him here, he was quite beyond caring about hiding his emotions. The floor was starting to look like a welcoming spot to lay down. 

“No,” a strong, familiar voice said then, and Dean felt a warmth on his wet cheek, an energy seeping into him unlike he’d ever known. A hand was cradling his jaw, encouraging but not forcing him to look up. He heeded the touch, and his eyes found Castiel’s perfect face, dazzling with the tenderest of smiles on it. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” the angel nearly whispered, his breath close enough to ghost across Dean’s face. “Unless you tell me to,” he added as his thumb stroked the hollow of Dean’s scruffy cheek. 

“Cas…” Dean got out, his voice hopeful and tortured at once. “I…” he didn’t know how to say the words, but that was the thing about having a direct line with an angel; he didn’t have to. 

“This is my choice, Dean,” Castiel said soberly. “I know the consequences well. And this is where I choose to be.” With this, he stepped closer into the human, and Dean finally gave in to what his heart had been yearning for. His arms encircled Cas’s body, drawing the angel flush against him, and he buried his face in his neck above the collar of the trench coat. He may have been crying still, he wasn’t sure, he was feeling more emotions all at once that he ever had, but it was okay. It was all going to be okay, and that was the first time in his life that Dean Winchester had ever had that thought and meant it. 

Castiel began pressing kisses to Dean’s forehead, down his nose, and across his cheeks. It felt like pure sunbeams of a idyllic summer day caressing his face, soaking into him and promising everything he could want. The angel and the human locked eyes for just a moment before their lips met for the first time, and the world quite literally shifted around them.

When Dean opened his eyes again, surfacing from the kiss, he and Castiel were still holding tight to each other, but they were now, illogically, in the front seat of the Impala. 

“What the hell?” Dean asked dazedly. At least it was familiar territory, but…

Then he realized he was hearing something he never had before, and it was glorious. Cas was laughing, looking around at the interior of the car, and then back at Dean, and laughing. Dean smiled at him, unable to help it, but he was also giving him a quizzical stare. Was that a blush on the angel’s cheeks? 

“I’d always imagined our first kiss would be here in your car,” Cas admitted, almost shyly, and if there was any part of Dean that hadn’t fallen completely head over heels already, the rest of him went tumbling over the edge now. He leaned in and captured Cas’s lips with his own, melting into a love and security more perfect than any other human could imagine. 

  
  


“You guys still got that little iron cross I lent you a while back?” Bobby asked. 

“Sure,” Sam told him, “I think it’s in the trunk. Be right back.” He went to head out into the yard, with half a hope that Dean wouldn’t see him if he wanted to be alone. He hadn’t heard the rumble of the Impala’s engine starting so he knew his brother hadn’t taken the car. Finding that little three inch cross in the depths of the trunk was going to be a chore but he was pretty sure it was in there and if Bobby needed it for the case he was working, Sam was happy to oblige.

It was the kind of spring evening that was holding onto light as long it could, slowly losing the fight. Sam admired the deepening purple of the Midwest skyline before he turned towards the Impala, parked some distance from Bobby’s beat up porch. As he took his first steps towards the car his sharp eyes fell on the figures in the front seat. There was just enough light to tell that the two people both had short dark hair and they were close enough to be either embracing or killing each other. Knowing one was Dean, and given the isolation of Bobby’s house, Sam began walking faster but he noticed there were no violent movements that seemed to be taking place. 

Quite the contrary, he could just make out his brother’s smile before the other, apparently male, figure leaned closer into him, and an arm in a light beige coat obscured Sam’s view of Dean’s face. He could still tell Dean’s head was tilting, as if he was about to kiss the other man...the other man with dark hair and a beige coat and...oh, thought Sam, stopping in his tracks and his eyes widening like saucers. Oh. OH. 

Now he finally had the presence of mind to retreat into the shadows of the trees next to the house and attempt to be stealthy about getting back towards the door. Not that he thought Dean or Cas had noticed him at all, as busy as they seemed to be. Sam could only lean on the porch railing, staring off into the long gone sunset for the moment, in order to process what he’d just witnessed. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his heart, seeing that smile on Dean’s face again...actually, Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever seen his brother look at anyone or anything like that. 

“Thanks for listening, Cas,” he whispered, smiling softly himself as he reached for the doorknob to reenter the house. He’d just have to tell Bobby they would have to wait for daylight to find that cross. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Hope I captured the characters pretty well and did them justice, especially since I'm new to the fandom. I knew I was going to like the show and the characters even before I started watching, but I wasn't prepared for how deeply I would fall in love with and be fascinated with Castiel lol


End file.
